


After the dust settles

by sudokunym



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sam Wilson is So Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22815946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudokunym/pseuds/sudokunym
Summary: Sam Wilson has been having a weird week - between finding dead Hydra agents in tutus and being ghosted by the general, you'd think that would be the worst of it.Bucky Barnes has been having a weird week as well but that was mostly the fault of a barista who called herself 'Jazlyn', intent on peddling her aromatherapy pyramid scheme.Sam and Bucky haven't seen each other in months but that's about to change. Their week is about to get a whole lot weirder.Because someone is coming for them.And it's not Jazlyn with a fresh new scent.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

_There was no thought required, the shot was lined up on instinct alone. The crowded theatre was alive with noise but all he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears. The crosshairs were on his target as they always were and always would be._

_Bodies ran to their places for the show to begin, the red velvet curtain swaying with their movement._

_Unfortunately, the time wasn’t yet right to strike. Luckily, patience was one of the few virtues he possessed after a life of watching people from the shadows. God knows he was good at waiting._

_He had time to kill._

********

  
  


The red velvet curtain opened as the first few chords of Janet Jackson’s ‘Together Again’ filled the small theatre. It was at this moment that Sam Wilson questioned just what he, a verifiable superhero, had done to deserve having to watch an adult contemporary dance concert. 

His attendance was practically incomprehensible, which probably explained how he was so easily able to mingle with the crowd, people presuming he was just another family member roped into filling a seat. His intense frown probably helped sell that too. 

He made sure that the new Captain America was rarely seen in public without a smile, so plain old Sam Wilson’s disguise of a scowl worked a treat.

Sam wasn’t sure exactly what was going down but his source was solid. The news that some Hydra lackeys had regrouped and were running a dance school seemed pretty ridiculous at the time. The additional info describing the exploits of a mysterious vigilante hunting down each member of the Hydra dance troupe also struck Sam as equally farfetched.

That was until all the bodies started showing up. 

It’s hard to ignore a Hydra agent’s bullet-riddled corpse, especially when it’s wearing tap shoes and a sequined leotard.

Sam tried to focus on the spinning figures on stage rather than remember all the bodies he had found strewn across the streets like broken ballerina Barbies who had raided G.I Joe’s arsenal. 

It had been a very strange few weeks between the ribbon cutting ceremonies, making speeches to kids about staying true to yourself and checking the cold corpses of his enemies for a pulse. 

But the work helped keep him focused and if there’s anything he could do to get to the bottom of this, that would make it all worth it. He just wished that his efforts didn’t involve watching two evil doers attempting to pirouette in tutus.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH THIS?”

Oh thank goodness, a member of the audience is yelling and waving a gun. 

“YOU ARE PUTTING OUR NAME TO SHAME.” 

The balaclava-clad man could barely be heard over the screams of the crowd but he had the attention of those on stage.

“THIS IS NOT THE FUTURE THE RED SKULL PLANNED FOR US.”

As audience members took the ranting gunman as their cue to hastily exit the venue, Sam began climbing over the seating towards the stage, the gunman luckily facing away from him.

Thank god the bad guys seemed too concerned with each other, he doesn’t want any civilian casualties today.

“I WILL BRING FORTH THE FUTURE JOHANN SHMIDT DESIGNED-”

The man carefully aimed the gun at the two dancers on stage, frozen in place. 

“-YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE IN IT.”

Unfortunately being stuck in place didn’t stop the ballerina’s eyes darting around the room, both taking that perfect moment to notice Sam bounding towards them. 

“...what is behind me?” the balaclava guy asked quizzically as he swung around, “is there something more interesting than your impending death?”

Well shit, the guy has an AK-47. 

And suddenly the dancers on stage remembered they have handguns hidden under all that tulle. 

He knew he should have brought the damn shield. 

“Hey, why don’t we all just…” Sam began but the balaclava idiot had a different idea.

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” The idiot shrieked, cocking his weapon.

“Sorry, we haven’t met before,” Sam said with the gusto of a man who didn’t plan on dying at a damn ballet concert. “The ground - not really my scene.”

With that Sam extended his metal wings and crashed through the gun-wielding man, knocking him into a tangle of cables as his head hit a stack of speakers. 

Taking out the gunman and the 1997 pop soundtrack in one move - not bad, Wilson.

Bullets ricocheted off the armor of his wings as the ballerina’s thankfully terrible aim missed his vital organs. 

He doubled back, flying up into the rafters of the stage and yanking down the lighting rig onto the two tutu-clad assassins. 

A heavy light smashed into one of the dancer’s heads as she crumpled to the floor in a pile of dust and glass. The other ballerina ducked and rolled, spinning around to take aim at Sam again and firing off a shot. Sam’s wing just managed to flick the bullet away before it hit his forehead. 

Better wrap this up quickly, he likes his face the way it is. 

Red Wing smashed through the back wall of the stage, Sam’s fingers dancing across the forearm controls to shoot the gun out of the remaining dancer’s hand. With Red Wing proving an effective distraction, Sam sent a flying kick towards his attacker’s torso, propelling him into the heavy velvet curtains as the Hydra ballerina hit the ground with a loud thump.

As Sam landed, walking to check that his foe was definitely out cold, he didn’t hear the balaclava idiot standing up. 

But he did hear two quick shots being fired from a gun. 

Sam flung his wings up in defence, spinning towards where he left the balaclava-clad guy. Serves him right for thinking these guys were above shooting him in the back. 

But there was no familiar sound of bullets being deflected by his wings or the alternative pain that usually came after he was slow to action. The previously ranting attacker was still standing in the middle of the empty audience but his balaclava had been ripped off in the earlier scramble. 

His balaclava had instead been replaced with a look of surprise, still etched on his face, paired with fresh blood trickling down his cheek.

Sam glided down as balaclava guy dropped his rifle and fell to the floor. 

There was a perfectly lined up shot right in the middle of the assailant’s forehead. He was dead before he hit the ground. 

And if Sam didn't fire, that could only mean one thing.

There was another gunman in the theatre. 

He’s never going to leave the shield at home again.

Sam’s eyes darted around the space but he was only able to hear faint footsteps and a quick metallic reflection hitting him in the eye as his mystery savior ran through the back door. 

No way... it couldn’t be…

Sam flew after the fleeing silhouette, tucking and rolling through the small frame of the theatre door, hitting the ground and breaking into a run through the foyer. 

But as his hand hit the door handle that would take him to the street his mind caught up, taking in the panicking evacuated theatre audience and a growing squad of police through the window. 

There was no way Captain America could run out and cause further confusion.

And he’ll never be able to get through the crowd to find the guy who saved him, gunning down his enemy with a sniper’s precision. 

And boy, he sure could have used that sniper guy’s advice as he worked out how the hell someone is even supposed to be Captain America. Disappearing for five months really can put a damper on… well, not a friendship but the dude was starting to annoy him less.

Though Sam was grateful, the whole night left him wondering one big question.

_Where the hell have you been all this time, Bucky Barnes?_

********

“Do you have an appointment, Mr Wilson?” 

“Like I said before - no! But the only reason appointments still exist is because I helped save the world, so I feel like the military could squeeze me into their busy schedule for a quick chat! I mean, it’s barely been five mon-”

“-I understand your frustration but if you could please take a seat,” the assistant interrupted, stony-face, “I’ll call again and ask if the General will see you but he is in meetings all day, and-”

“-and he’s happened to have meetings every time I’ve come down here to speak with him lately!” Sam was over it. “I hope he’s taking a lot of notes and has enough mobile games installed on his phone, that’s no way to live - trapped in an eternal PowerPoint presentation, with suits talking about actionable targets, never bein-”

“-I’m sorry, Mr Wilson,” she continued in a monotone, emotionless drawl, “but we have a zero tolerance harassment policy and if you continue like this, I will have to ask you to lea-”

“-harassment? I’m just talking to you - you’re his assistant, Eileen! Your bosses waterboard people and you can’t handle me being a little upset while getting treated like a stranger by the country I served-”

“-hey, stranger!” Agent Sharon Carter interjected as she entered the foyer, hooking her arm around his and steering him past Eileen towards the security barriers.

Sharon made a point of glaring at Eileen as she pressed her security pass to the gate’s reader, gesturing for Sam to walk through.

“Thanks, Carter - I keep leaving bad Yelp reviews for this place but the service never changes,” Sam quipped as he strolled into the restricted base.

“Sorry, I’ll pass on your feedback to the manager,” Sharon responded as she beeped her pass again, walking through, “I’ll try to get you some free garlic bread to make up for your bad experien-”

“-IT’S ONE PERSON PER PASS.”

Sharon leveled her unimpressed stare at the persistent assistant again.

“Kindly can it, Eileen," Sharon bristled, "Or please send security in after the Falcon, that sounds like a fun way to spend Monday morning.”

Sharon led Sam away from the fuming Eileen, down the winding corridors of the military headquarters. The frown on her face softened, as she nudged Sam playfully in the ribs.

“Wilson! You don’t call, you don’t write-”

“-you didn’t leave a number, you have no fixed address,” Sam smiled back, “It’s good to see you, Carter. Been in need of a friendly face lately.”

“Yeah, can’t say that watercooler gossip has been favourable to you,” Sharon opened her office’s door, holding it as Sam stepped inside, “It seems like the entire military-industrial complex doesn’t look kindly on vigilantes, even if they are part of the reason all their soldiers popped back into existence.”

Sam sat down in the chair across from Sharon at her desk. The office was spartan save for a shelf featuring a small framed photograph of a woman he recognised as Peggy Carter, a rather shiny butterfly knife and a pink reusable coffee cup.

Sam leaned back in the seat.

“Well, they’d no doubt have more to say about me if they found out I wasn't still in hiding but instead had a five year nap, so maybe don’t bring that up over brunch,” Sam volunteered.

“Your secret sleep is safe with me,” Sharon said with a smile, “I know the General is suspiciously busy but is there anything I could help with?”

Sam let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“Maybe? Been having a weird few days. Whatever is left of Hydra seems to be getting itself killed.”

Sharon narrowed her eyes.

“I mean... that sounds good?” Sharon shrugged.

Sam bit his lip.

“Well that’s the thing,” Sam continued, coyly scratching his head, “they seem to be getting themselves killed by a sniper with impeccably good aim... I reckon you’d need to be some sort of cyberborg freak to-”

“-hey, a dead Hydra agent is a good Hydra agent,” Sharon cut in too quickly, shooting him the slightest worried glance as she pulled a notebook from her desk drawer. “And speaking of taking down the enemy, I do have a little bit of news to share… it’s not… I mean, it’s not all bad but I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

Sam eyed her suspiciously as she flipped to a random page of the notebook.

“Is this something to do with those nice men in tactical gear who came to my place asking for Steve’s shield?”

Sharon started absent-mindedly scribbling on the notebook in front of her, avoiding his gaze. 

“Look, you know me, Wilson," Sharon was more serious than she'd ever sounded before, "I’m not going to bullshit you. Times are tough. Trust in the military is at an all time low thanks to the Blip and they’re looking for the right PR stunt to try and regain some of that trust. I know that Steve gave you that shield for a reason…”

Sharon stopped moving her pen momentarily, sympathy clouding her face.

“...but we have to do what’s best for the people. Give them something safe to get behind, someone who isn’t taking political stances on-”

“-hey, I only said that one thing about healthcare at that school opening!” Sam jumped in, “And that community group whose funding was pulled - who wouldn’t stand-up for an underprivileged team of future scientists?! That would be unAmerican! And that fight with the president on Twitter was an accident, he shouldn’t have talked about how huge his…”

Sam’s defence ran out of steam.

“...I guess I have been a bit riled up lately but it’s been tough to stay silent,” Sam said, exasperated, “I was just doing my best.”

Sharon was still doodling on that damned notebook, unable to look him in the eye.

“And you are doing your best. And you should do all those things. I told them to stop bothering you about the shield but…” Sharon’s eyebrows furrowed, “...they’ve made the decision... to recruit a new Captain America.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. He was speechless. Actually speechless. And that doesn’t happen often.

“But… me…. I…” Sam flailed.

“Yeah, I know,” Sharon’s strokes grew rougher as her grip tightened on the pen, “He won’t be called ‘Captain America’ at least. A focus group is deciding on something that will appeal to as many citizens as possible..."

"... this explains why you called me 'Falcon' in front of Eileen, Captain America's arch nemesis…" Sam lamented.

"The military want something people can have ownership over and believe in while they’re trying to find their feet," Sharon frowned at her own words, "Someone to toe the line. I know it might not sound like it but this is the right thing to do.”

Sam was still in shock. It wasn’t like Carter to agree with anything the marketing arm of the military had to say, let alone destroying the legacy of Captain America.

“I won’t support this.” Sam said plainly.

“Sam.”

Sharon finally looked up from the notebook, meeting his gaze. But there was something there besides the expected empathy. An urgency. Like what she was about to say was of vital importance. Sam sat up in the office chair.

“ _Look_ …” Sharon slowly began.

Sam knew Carter and Carter didn’t emphasise words like that so laboriously.

“ _...down-”_ Sharon continued, emphasising every letter, feigning being deep in thought before continuing normally, “-downtime will be a good thing for you, maybe you can get in touch with other people you lost in the Blip, find some hobbies, I hear golf is really…”

But Sam wasn’t listening anymore, he was following her instructions and looking down. 

Looking down at the notebook Carter had been scribbling on. 

Looking down at the few simple words written there that were enough to send a chill down his spine.

_They are listening._

_They will come for you and Bucky._

_Run._

“...a break is good for the soul. I mean, my 401k is at the bottom of the Pontomac but I’m sure you’ve got enough to rent a campervan, get out on the road, see the sights!” Sharon continued, not letting her train of thought be interrupted as his eyes met hers, shooting him the briefest of meaningful looks, “I would step in but my hands are tied. It’s nothing personal - you know that I’ll always be a friend. Hey - maybe I’ll meet up with you on that great American road trip!”

“Maybe you will,” Sam offered, “But it feels like this might put a bit of a damper on our relationship.”

“Never.” Sharon threw the notebook into her bag, “Look, I have to go attend to other things and Eileen will kill me if I leave you sitting here… she might actually do that, I feel like she has to be trained in something other than being inept…”

“Well there’s not much left for me here.” Sam stood from his seat, walking out the door, “Thanks but no thanks, I guess?”

Sharon clutched her heart in mock pain.

“Wilson, words can hurt!” Sharon followed him out of the office and back down the hallway.

“You should try and catch-up with people you haven’t seen since The Blip - I went down to Brooklyn, it’s just full of long-lost friends getting coffee,” Sharon pulled her hair back into a loose bun as she walked, “You know what? Brooklyn was actually less depressing when it was empty.”

They reached the security gates, Sam walking out and Sharon moving to stroll down another hallway.

“See you around, Carter.”

“Catch you later, Flyboy.”

Despite only walking at a leisurely pace past a still furious Eileen, out of the building and into the busy plaza which surrounded it, Sam Wilson was now on the run. 

Again. 

Damn it. 

But where to?

From her thinly-veiled hints Sharon seemed to think Bucky was hanging out in Brooklyn. But he'd already searched the usual haunts without finding the greasy ghost.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He had this same feeling at the theatre, the eyes of someone hidden watching his every move.

It might just be his imagination but a man who was sitting across the building's wide plaza on a bench, with long brown hair stuffed under a baseball cap, seemed to be staring at him from underneath his sunglasses. 

Enough of this stalkery shit. Sam began to stride right up to the figure but that was enough to startle him, as his watcher sprang up and disappeared into the peak hour crowd. 

_Fine! I don't want to talk to you anyway, you broody, conditioner-needing greaseball!_ Sam thought.

But despite it all, Sam hailed a taxi and prayed that he was still being followed by Bucky rather than just the U.S military.


	2. Chapter 2

_He brushed his hair behind his ear, strolling past the coffee shop window again. Three exits. Which to cover? He can't lose him now, he might never catch up to him again._

_Clearing the window he breaks into a run, searching for a rooftop to get a better vantage point._

_No-one has escaped him. Sam Wilson will not be the exception._

*******

The thing about deciding to go on the run is that it’s better to do it slowly, so as to not raise undue suspicion. Just go about your business until suddenly you ain't there no more.

And even though Sam was more a local cafe guy, Starbucks seemed like as good a place as any to wrap up his affairs. It’s a good thing everyone's idea of a great last meal is a venti mocha frappuccino.

Sam was fine. He was calm. Cool. Collected.

“One venti moch-” he began to order but was interrupted as a hipster-looking barista hit the floor behind the counter with a smack.

Sam’s hand flew to the pistol hidden in a holster under his jacket before he realised that the barista just slipped on a coffee they had spilled. 

Probably can’t shoot the coffee back in the cup. 

Sam let go of the firearm and let his hands drop to his sides. Maybe he wasn’t all that calm.

“Venti mocha frappuccino, really go nuts on the whipped cream too thanks,” Sam politely requested, “Also, please help the poor guy up, that sounded like it hurt.”

As the cashier awkwardly pulled the milk-covered barista to his feet, Sam went and sat on a stool near the counter. 

Now, who to contact before he ditches the phone in the trash?

_Hey mom, hope you’re doing alright..._

Sam’s fingers hovered over the text message app as he frowned. He couldn’t say anything was up but he also needed to tell her not to worry. This was tricky.

_Hey mom, hope you’re doing alright. I’m doing just fine. Might not be able to drop by for dinner on Saturday, got some other plans that came up. Please don’t let this impact my standing as your favourite son. Love you._

It didn’t seem like it was enough but at least it was something. Now, to compose a message for a certain former Captain.

_Hey old man, I understand why you needed to leave but if you ever want to hit me up, you know where to find me. Plus you can teach me how to throw that glorified frisbee of yours. Wishing you well wherever you are right now._

Sam considered adding a line in there with a bit more bite considering Steve gave him a shield, wandered off into the woods and left him in this mess but what can he say? He has a soft spot for doddery old fools. Speaking of…

_Hey Bucky the snowman, long time no see! Except for the last few days where your mop of a haircut has been following me…_

Damn it, he can’t type any of that in case someone is monitoring his phone. Time to simplify.

_Hey asshole._

Strong start.

_Hey asshole. If you want to actually talk I’ll be hanging out where we last were together. We need to talk btw. Also btw means ‘by the way’, they’re acronyms that people from this century use._

Harsh but… well not fair but he’s pissed about getting tailed. And it would be suspicious if he didn’t send an angry text to the guy, he still owes him a car after he ripped his steering wheel out.

Thank goodness no-one knows where Tony Stark’s old cabin was, at least Sam has somewhere to run to that has good Wi-Fi. If Pepper isn’t happy to see him he can just sleep in the garage, that metal box was more luxurious than his apartment.

“Sam?’

Sam stifled his jumpiness by leaning into it, hopping up quickly to grab his coffee order as his name was called. 

Now, was there anyone else? Nat was gone. Clint was off recovering from his five year murderous rampage. Wanda was just trying to deal. Sam never properly met the creepy talking raccoon. 

God, he really needed some normal friends. But there might be one more person who could help.

_Dear Shuri, how is my favourite genius, kick-ass princess? I know it has been awhile but things have been a bit busy. I have a small favour to ask - if you happen to bump into a certain one-armed WWII vet, tell him I’m still looking for him. Say hi to Okoye for me._

Send.

Actually, on second thought…

_Scratch that -don’t say hi to Okoye. She scares me deeply._

And with that, it was time to ditch his phone. Now, should he smash it or just wipe it and let some lucky dumpster diver get themselves a brand new cell? Decisions decisions…

As Sam was pondering, his phone buzzed. Of course Shuri texted back quickly, she’s an actual young person who knows how phones work.

_I haven’t heard from tall, dark and forgetful unfortunately. Gonna say hi to Okoye for you, love a bit of drama._

How kind. But just when he thought the fun was over, his phone screen dipped to black before opening an app he’d never seen before, green text appearing suddenly on the screen. 

_[Sam, I’m guessing that your message out of the blue is because something is up.]_

Smart and resourceful, thank goodness Shuri was on their side.

_[I put this encrypted communication app on here just in case but it’s best you avoid inputting anything, don’t want a keylogger getting confused. I haven’t heard from Bucky but I have been trying to track him down, some blood tests we were running on the serum came back and I would like to talk to him about them. I haven’t been able to visit because my brother is worried that something is about to go down in New York. If you’re looking for Bucky I suggest you visit Rebecca Proctor - she lives above a bookshop with a big yellow sign on Coney Island avenue in Brooklyn.]_

Sam took a long sip from the mocha, committing the address to memory. He let out a frustrated sigh at the idea of trying to track down a guy who was following him, it seemed counterintuitive.

_[Hey! Don’t sigh at me!]_

Sam spluttered as he choked on his coffee. Of course she could see him. He cast a wary glance at his phone’s camera.

_[Anyway, go find him. I know you two have your differences but he’s all you’ve got. And you’re all he’s got. And between those new wings I built you and his arm, you’re basically like my own little Avengers team.]_

Sam saluted his phone’s camera.

_[Q over and out. Stay safe, Sam.]_

The phone screen flashed black again before returning back to normal. Sam popped out the sim card and factory reset it, standing up and dumping the phone in the bin with his empty frappuccino. 

Sam left the store to head towards Brooklyn but was hit with the overwhelming sense that he was being followed again. Too bad for them he’d gotten really good at losing tails after his years on the run. Turns out, Black Widow was pretty good at all that spy junk and he was a quick study.

So now he had a plan.

One, lose Bucky just to mess with him.

Two, track down Rebecca Proctor.

Three, find Bucky just to mess with him.

Four, hit Bucky over the head with his own arm.

Five, go on the run.

Six, hit Bucky with that arm a bunch more times.

*****

Tracking down Rebecca Proctor better be easier than losing his persistent tail. 

Sam had already been walking for five blocks when he casually strolled into a women’s lingerie store to see if he was indeed being followed. Only a few steps behind, his baseball cap-wearing companion joined him in the store, quickly ducking behind a display cabinet. 

Sam could have picked any shop but the thought of making the all-powerful Winter Soldier hide behind some bras was way too fun to pass up.

He browsed for awhile, selecting a pair of red lace underwear, before walking up to the counter. Hey - he could have got a girlfriend in the last five months! How was Bucky to know he was getting blocked from Tinder after being reported for catfishing by using the Falcon as a profile picture?

After his overpriced underwear purchase, he knew exactly where to go. Tony Stark had brought the team to a particular place a bunch of times to celebrate a few successful Avengers missions. Back in the good old days.

The smell of shawarma hit him as he entered the familiar restaurant and the nostalgia threatened to overwhelm but Sam knew he didn’t have much time. 

Bucky had hung back a bit, a block away by his last check. So he didn’t hesitate - he bolted through the shawarma place and straight to the hallway that he knew led to a backdoor. He ran down the alley and scaled the chain link fence with ease, breaking into a run towards the nearby road. A cab screeched to a halt in front him, the driver looking understandably pissed off as Sam pulled open the door and dived in the back seat.

“Coney Island avenue, Brooklyn. Step on it and I’ll give you one hell of a tip.”

With the mention of a tip, the taxi driver became a more mellow version of ludicrously annoyed. Money, the original social lubricant and still the best. 

As the cab sped off, Sam sunk down in the seat. His eyes darted between the car’s mirrors, searching the streets for Bucky’s silhouette but he was left thankfully wanting. 

Suck on that, you soviet popsicle.

The journey to Brooklyn was short but the tip was huge, so the taxi driver farewelled Sam with a “have a great day!” before speeding off down the street, giving Sam barely enough time to get out of the cab.

There were a few bookshops but it didn’t take long for Sam to find the one with a big yellow sign and an apartment above. The window on the upstairs residence was open, soft piano music drifting out into the street. 

Sam did a quick head check. His tail was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he was also just nowhere full stop.

He entered the bookstore, the bell attached to the door rousing a white cat from its slumber on top of a pile of textbooks. It trotted towards Sam, eyeing him off suspiciously.

“Alpine!”

A tall elderly woman with sharp features called to the cat from the back of the shop, wrapping a shawl around herself. 

“Oh! Hello there,” the woman shuffled towards him aided by a walking stick, scooping up the cat off the ground on the way, “is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Well, ma’am that depends - are you Rebecca Proctor?” Sam asked hopefully.

The elderly woman matched Alpine the cat’s suspicious expression.

“Well, _sir,_ that depends on who you are?” 

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me - my name is Sam Wilson I’m-”

As he spoke, a look of recognition slowly dawned across the woman’s face. Alpine the cat remained suspicious.

“-you’re _The Falcon_! Of course! I should have recognised you from the news bulletins. I am Rebecca, it’s so wonderful to make your acquaintance.” 

Rebecca closed the distance between them, reaching out to shake his hand with the same elbow nursing a still bristling Alpine.

“Sorry to intrude without calling ahead, I was sent here because you might be able to help me find someone,” Sam began walking, attempting to move the conversation away from the store’s large windows towards the stacks of books.

“Absolutely, I will do anything I can to help,” Rebecca joined him, jabbing books out of their path with her walking stick, “Any friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine.”

_Wait._

_What?!_

“Wait. What?!” Sam blurted out the thought. Really could have articulated that better.

“Oh, sorry, I should have introduced myself properly, I thought you knew!” Rebecca let Alpine leap onto a bookshelf, as she stuck out her hand to shake Sam’s again. 

“My maiden name is Rebecca Barnes. I’m Bucky’s sister.”

_Another Barnes?! God damn it. One was more than enough._

*****

Sam didn’t expect running from the government to involve quite so many cups of tea but he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

The cosy upstairs apartment had similar decor to the bookshop - that being books. It was small but would probably feel bigger if the shelves and shelves of dusty tomes didn’t line the walls. Plush leather seats sat around a glass coffee table and a small flat screen TV. The kitchen island was adorned with cookie jars and newspapers. Large indoor plants sat near the window, clearly well cared for, and every bit of wall that peaked through the bookshelves was adorned with black and white photographs - memories of times long past. 

Though the shelves mostly housed books, Sam clocked the folded triangle of an American flag with various medals sitting on top of it.

Sam spotted a bathroom through a half open door, assuming the closed one next to it led to Rebecca’s bedroom. There was only one door in and out. Not great if he needed to run. Though the large window looked big enough to leap through in a bind.

Cat toys littered the floor but Alpine only had suspicious eyes for him. How sweet. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been of much help,” Rebecca lamented, taking another sip of her tea, “I’m not sure why this Shuri thought to send you here. The last time I saw my brother was… gosh, it must have been 1943. And then I saw him on the news… after those awful attacks on the UN...”

Rebecca tried to hide her small sniffle by burying her face in the tea cup for another sip. 

Great job, Sam. Come harass a lonely old woman. How very Captain America of you.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs Proctor,” Sam stirred his tea pensively, “Bucky has been avoiding me and I just...I just really need to speak to him. I didn’t think about the impact this could have on you if he hadn’t made contact, that was callous of me.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” Rebecca put her tea down as Alpine leapt onto her lap, “It’s just nice to know that someone is looking out for James. I haven’t seen much of Steve on the news lately, I worry about them both.”

“Were you involved in the legal efforts over the last five years?” Sam queried, taking another sip of tea.

“I was. Not officially though, just behind the scenes,” Rebecca reached forward handing Sam a folder from the coffee table, “I think it really gave Steve purpose after the Blip to try and clear James’ name. For the first few years at least. The sparkle was gone from a lot of people’s eyes but when Steve stood in front of the courts and testified that my brother was the oldest prisoner of war the US had ever known… and that James deserved to have the crimes attributed to his name wiped from the records... it was like Captain America was back again.”

Sam flipped through the documents in the folder. Most of it was copies of the original files Natasha had handed them in the graveyard all those years ago, the Winter Soldier’s face frozen underneath notes scrawled in Russian. The rest of the pages were complex legal documents emblazoned with the header ‘United States v. Barnes’.

“Why did Steve stop fighting to clear Bucky’s name?” Sam scratched his head, still flipping through the pages, “He never did say and… it just seems… well, out of character.”

Rebecca sighed, stroking a purring Alpine.

“Steve didn’t stop but he just hit an impasse. His defence wasn’t working. He was devoting all this time to clearing the name of his friend but…” Rebecca poured another cup of tea, “...his friend was gone. Steve told me he would return to it but a part of me…”

Rebecca paused, her voice lowering to a whisper.

“...a part of me was happy he was moving on. None of us ever imagined that everyone would come back. And now, thanks to Steve’s efforts, everyone knows about my brother. The good…” Rebecca blew on the fresh cup of hot tea, “...and the bad. I can understand why James has disappeared. But I am saddened that he would not think to come here.”

Sam let a look of sympathy wash over his face as he nodded but despite feeling empathy for this abandoned sister, she did raise a good point.

Why didn’t Bucky come here? 

No-one knew he even had a sister.

This was a place he could hide.

And she seemed to miss him terribly.

So either Bucky was more of a douchebag than Sam had previously thought or…

...Sam was being played.

Sam’s eyes slowly searched the room again. There were no hints that another person could be living there, no telltale black jacket or a big hairbrush. 

Rebecca really had given him no reason to doubt her and he felt awful for doing it but why would Shuri send him here otherwise?

“Well, I’m sorry to do this but I really do have to go,” Sam stood from his chair, heading towards the kitchen to clean his tea cup, “This is such a lovely home, thank you for putting up with me.”

Rebecca was flipping through another legal file, looking mournfully at old pictures of Sergeant Barnes in uniform.

“Oh, it was no trouble,” Rebecca sipped from her tea and kept flipping.

Sam took the long way to the kitchen, checking that Rebecca was still looking down as he attempted to quietly open the closed bedroom door to peek inside. 

The door hinge screeched loudly as Sam’s grip tightened on the tea cup he almost dropped. 

Alpine was immediately at his feet, staring up at him, this time with warranted suspicion.

“Mr Wilson,” Rebecca rose from her chair with the aid of her walking stick, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Sorry, I thought this... was... the bathroom?...” Sam was not good on his feet with this stuff. He missed kicking people.

“I’ve been doing the same thing, looking around every corner just in case he’s there,” Rebecca met him at the bedroom door and swung it open all the way with a loud creak.

There was a lovely pink duvet cover on the bed but otherwise nothing.

“Every day I wake up and wish he would just be here. Just pop up, no introduction. Drinking a cup of coffee, acting like it was 1940 and I was the crazy one,” Rebecca took Sam’s tea cup from his hand, moving towards the kitchen sink.

“Yeah… look, I’m really sorry for bothering you,” Sam followed her to the kitchen, stepping forward to cement his apology with a handshake, “Your brother… he really seemed like he’d pulled himself back together. He helped save the world. I shouldn’t have let him go off on his own, should have kept a better eye on him. I wish I was bringing him back to you rather than hoping he was hiding behind the couch or something.”

Rebecca finished putting the cups down and returned the handshake.

“Do let me know if he suddenly pops up from behind any lounge furniture, Mr Wilson.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Sam it is then. Like I said, it’s just nice to know someone is looking out for him.”

“When I took up Steve’s mantel, I knew I needed Bucky’s help. Feels like he’s had too many Captain America’s let him down now, makes sense he’s running before he falls again.”

Rebecca shuffled alongside him towards the front door. Sam half-heartedly looked in the bathroom just in case but apart from a stunning collection of bath oils, there was no Bucky hiding in the shower.

“Don’t be a stranger, I really would like to hear more about my brother sometime,” Rebecca opened the door for him, “Losing James all those years ago… it doesn’t get easier.”

“Thanks again for your hospitality,” Sam volunteers even though it doesn’t seem like enough.

Alpine thankfully has decided to get distracted by the kitchen cabinets rather than see him go with its creepy glassy stare. Small victories.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Rebecca says kindly as she softly shuts the door.

Sam takes in a deep breath. Well that went well. Can’t even be stealthy around an 80-year-old, Wilson.

He manages to take half a step away from the door before he gets the awful feeling that there’s something he missed. Something out of place in that nice old woman’s apartment.

_Holy shit._

Sam spins quickly, giving the flimsy door a hard shove. 

Rebecca, still standing close to the entryway, turned in surprise before gritting her teeth. 

She tries in vain to shuffle in front of Sam’s view of the kitchen but a small statured, elderly liar was no match for his functioning eyeballs. 

He quickly glanced toward the bathroom again, spotting the out of place object he had noticed that was visible through the ajar bathroom door.

Sure, Rebecca had a wide variety of bath oils but one of them did not belong. 

He did not know any old women who needed WD 40 next to the soap.

But he did know a guy who would need that. Comes with the territory when you have a metal arm.

And where could that guy with the metal arm be? 

Oh look, there he is now.

Bucky goddamn Barnes was standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in one hand and the vibranium fingers of his other hand frozen in surprise, holding a sugar cube above the cup. 

The mighty Winter Soldier, had been snuck up on by Sam Wilson. Hell yeah.

Also, Bucky had somehow found time to cut his hair off between following him on the street and making a cup of coffee. He’ll give him this - the guys works fast.

“Oh hey, Barnes - lovely to see you!” Sam exclaimed as he walked into the apartment, arms open wide in greeting, “Just met your sister, she seems to have inherited the family trait of being a massive pain in my ass.”

Bucky dropped the cube into the cup and carefully placed it down on the island bench. 

“Listen,” Bucky began, “I’m really sorry, Sam but-”

And that was all Bucky said before his escape attempt, launching himself towards the open window. 


End file.
